


The Stark Affair

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Disco, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Multi, and Tony Stark Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a few days before Christmas, Illya goes out on an assignment and things go horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stark Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyburg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/gifts).



 

The radio was playing softly as they walked into the apartment.  It took Napoleon only a moment to recognize the song.  _You Light up My Life_ had been playing nearly non-stop since its release.  While he was sure it was a noteworthy song to someone, Napoleon really didn’t care if he ever heard it again.  It was overly sentimental and he found himself missing the crooners of his youth.  

“Hey, a penny for your thoughts.”  Her voice was seductive, sweet and rich with the promise of rewards.  Napoleon went willingly into her arms and they sank down onto the couch.

Napoleon made love to her mouth, paid homage to her neck and worshipped her breasts.  This was what he was designed for, created for, meant for.  

It took no effort to run his hand up along her thigh and stroke the butter soft skin he encountered along the way or to pull away her panties.  

Yet, even as he slipped easily into her, for just a brief second, his thoughts dashed away, caught by a random snatch of that abysmal song - _never again to be all alone_.   Here he was in the most intimate of embraces and somehow he felt as if he was there all alone.  

How many women had he taken to bed over the years?  How many of them had cried out his name and writhed beneath him?  He’d honestly lost count.  

 He increased the rhythms of his thrusts and the woman beneath him moaned his name.   Why did he feel so damn alone now at this very moment?  If only…

 

                                                                                                ****

 

Illya Kuryakin peeled off his mustache and rubbed his upper lip.  Staring at his face in the mirror, he was a little shocked by how tired he looked.  Not tired in a good way, although the sex he’d had was certainly satisfying.  He was tired of the game and of having to hide in plain sight.  When he was younger, this sort of hide and seek game was fun, but now he longed for a sense of belonging and of not having to hide his face and alter his voice just because he wanted some intimacy.

Sighing, he turned and started the shower.  The hair dye he used would wash out, although his hair would be dry for the next couple of days.  Illya made a note to buy conditioner the next time he went shopping.  Maybe that would be easier on his hair.

He turned on the small radio that was set on the counter beside the sink.  Immediately he winced as that his ears were assailed by something that purportedly passed as music.  The cleaners must have changed the station – again.  He was not the least bit interested in the night or to boogie, whatever that meant.   It took him a moment to find a jazz station, then Sarah Vaughn’s rich voice filled the room.  _You’re every thought, You’re every thing. You’re every song I ever sing._

Irritated, Illya turned off the radio and stepped into the shower.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was think about what he’d just done with a complete stranger.  

He sloshed the water through his hair and watched the water at his feet turn from clear to dark brown and finally clear.  He squeezed a generous portion of shampoo into his hand and scrubbed his head until he felt certain all traces of color was gone.  

Illya ached and not just because of the backroom sex.  The sex was just a meaningless action to him now, a way to temporarily scratch a never-ceasing itch.  All because he lacked the guts to tell the one person in his life who really meant something to him just that.

 

                                                                                *****

 

Napoleon stepped from the elevator and walked towards Mr. Waverly’s office.  He caught himself.  Even after seven years, he still thought of it as Mr. Waverly’s office.  His secretary looked up and smiled.  

“Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Sarah.  How are you today?”

“I’m fine, sir.”  She passed over a thick folder of reports, a handful of envelopes and then stood, her pad and pen tucked under her arm and Napoleon’s appointment calendar in her hand.  “You have a nine o’clock with the Sultan of Brunei, a ten thirty with the United Nations Security Council and Mr. Kuryakin has been waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

Napoleon walked into the office and grinned at his partner.  Napoleon shook his head and corrected himself again - former partner.  Illya ran Section Two now.  The first thing Napoleon has done was toss out the forty-year old mandatory retirement when he’d assumed the Section One position.  Now a person could stay in Section Two as long as they wanted to and could pass the physical.  This morning, Napoleon wasn’t sure Illya could manage either.

“Good morning, Illya.  You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.  Big night?”

“You have no idea.”  Illya scowled from his spot at the round conference table, but Napoleon could see the humor in his eyes.  “You are looking a little bleary around the edges as well.”

“Let’s just say, I should remember about going out on a school night and leave it at that.”

“Big date?”

“She wanted to see the new Pink Panther movie.”

“Is that franchise still around?  I thought he died or something.”

“I tried to talk her into _The Deer Hunter_ , but that wasn’t going to happen.  And then we had to go to the disco.  Do you remember when dancing actually meant physical contact with your dance partner?  Now you are lucky if she’s within five feet of you.  I am getting far too old for this.”  

“Maybe it’s time to find someone and settle down.  You know, go the whole nine yards - the picket fence, pipe, and a loyal dog.”

“Ah, the rub is in the finding.  Who would want an old war horse like me?”  Napoleon sat down at his desk and dropped his armful of reports and correspondence onto the blotter. He thought he caught something in Illya’s eyes, but it was gone before Napoleon could figure out what.   “I can remember when I would do everything I could to avoid reports.  Now they all end up here… with me.”

“I know.  I was there.”  Illya smiled at the thought.  “It seems like a hundred years ago now.”

The door chimed and Sarah walked in, carrying a tray.  There was a carafe of coffee, cups and sweet rolls on it.  “I thought you looked like you two could use this.”

“Sarah, you are my lifesaver.”  Napoleon slapped his hands together.  “Why don’t you take the afternoon off?”

“I’d love to, sir.  Thank you.  I can finish up with my Christmas shopping.”

Illya poured a cup of coffee from the carafe and passed it to Napoleon.  “Christmas?  Is it already that time of the year… again?”

“When was the last time you were in a store, my friend?”

“A few weeks ago.  I never pay attention, to be honest.”  Illya selected a pastry and then turned his attention to his coffee.  For a moment, it was as if the years melted away.  They were young Section Two Agents, racing through their lives, celebrating their victories, mourning their losses from moment to moment, but always together.  

Napoleon pushed aside the lump of sadness in his throat.  “As much as I always enjoy shooting the breeze with you, is there something you need, Illya?”

“Well, I could lie and say there is this suspected coup planned for the first of the year or that a small third world nation just acquired a nuclear warhead--”

“What nation?”  Napoleon was alarmed. ”Please tell me it’s not Libya.”

“Not to worry, they will never get the plutonium.  We saw to that already.  Or that there’s a rumbling that someone is going to try and snatch some billionaire’s child --”

“But?”

“The reality is that I simply felt like talking to you this morning.  You know, the way we used to… in the old days?”  Illya’s communicator chirped and he twisted it on.  “Kuryakin.”

“We are ready to deploy, sir.”  The voice was unfamiliar to Napoleon, but Illya nodded. 

“I’ll be right there, Stan.”  Illya rose and walked out, pausing at the door.  “Work beckons.  Have a good day, Napoleon.”

“You, too.”  Napoleon watched Illya leave and sighed.  “You’re not the only one who is missing the old days, my friend.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya stepped into the underground structure of the parking garage and paused.  Gone were the days when THRUSH could ambush them, but he was still naturally cautious.  

He saw his new partner and two other agents in a sedan and moved in that direction.  It was rather funny.  Stan Bernardi had been his partner for nearly seven years now and Illya still thought of him as his new partner, as opposed to Napoleon.  While he and Stan worked well together, there was not the connection that Illya had with Napoleon. 

Napoleon looked tired this morning and Illya wondered what time the man had actually gotten home.  By UNCLE policy, they didn’t take women back to their own apartments.  The fewer people who knew what they did and where they lived, the better.  With the full disclosure the White House was pushing them for, Illya wondered just how much longer UNCLE would be a clandestine force.

“What is going on?” Illya was barely able to get the car door shut before the wheels squealed and they were on the move.

“It looks like the kidnapping scheme is a cover up for something bigger that THRUSH is trying.”  Stan was checking his weapon.  “We’re on our way to the UN.”

“We can always depend upon THRUSH to bring something more to the table.”  Illya held on as they took a corner on two wheels.  “You know, it would be better if we actually slowed down and approached a bit more covertly.”

“No time.”

Stan wove in and out of traffic, slamming Illya against the door more than once.  Illya didn’t complain.  He’d felt the same at Stan’s age – always in a hurry to engage.

They pulled up in front of a building a few blocks from the UN and the other three agents piled out.  Illya lagged behind.   They paused, looking at Illya for instructions while he rummaged around beneath a seat and in the glove compartment.  He found what he was looking for and dropped it into his pocket.

“Okay, be careful and keep your eyes open.  I’m going to start in the basement and work my way up.  Stan, you take the second floor.  Hamilton, the third and Harris, you take the top.  We’ll meet on the first floor.  Keep your communicator open.”

“Why do you get the basement?” Stan was already moving towards the elevator.

Illya grinned and patted his pocket.  “Because I remembered to grab a flashlight before leaving the car.”

Illya assumed a casual air and opened the door leading down into the basement.  He knew better than to try and sneak in.   That only worked if you wanted someone to notice you.  Illya had been in the game far too long for such a rookie mistake.

Standing at the head of the stairs, he clicked the lights on and off, but nothing happened.  He’d expected as much.  He pulled out the flashlight and headed down into the darkness.

An hour passed and he’d found nothing except a dead rat, some garbage obviously left by a street person and a stack of boxes.  He’s been careful with the boxes, but they were filled with water-logged books.  He’d finally found a light switch that worked, but he kept the flashlight handy, just in case.  He’d nearly broken an ankle in a similar situation once.

“I wonder if anyone else is having any luck,” Illya said, holding up his communicator.  There wasn’t a signal down here. Tucking it back into his jacket pocket, he’d started back for the stairs when he heard it – a soft mewing sound.  At first, he thought it was a cat, but it wasn’t right for that… it sounded almost human.  “What on earth…”  He took a few steps in the direction he thought the sound had come, paused and took a few more.

Then there was a muffled roar, the screaming of torn steel and rendered concrete and Illya’s world went very dark.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon glanced up from his report and blinked his eyes as an obviously panicked Sarah ran into his office.  In the seven years he’d known her as his secretary, he’d never seen the woman lose her cool, not like this.

He stood as she approached, the report forgotten, “My god, Sarah, are you all right?”

“A bombing… close to the UN.  The reports are saying it was terrorists—“

“Terrorist named THRUSH.” Napoleon reached for his phone.  “Do we have any agents close by who can begin an investigation?”

“Sir, there’s more.  We actually had agents in the building.”

“Oh, no.  Who?”

“Section Twos – Hamilton, Harris, Bernardi, and… Mr. Kuryakin.”

A pain hit Napoleon square in the heart and he sank back down.  Why hadn’t he argued with Illya about his continued field work?  Why hadn’t he pulled rank and made Illya accept a desk job?  Why hadn’t he been the man he was supposed to be and look out for the man he loved…  Napoleon’s eyes grew wide in sudden realization and he came back to his feet.

“Get someone there!  Section Two, Section Three, I don’t care,” he growled as he grabbed his jacket.  “I want a full deployment.  Find our agents and bring them out.”

“Yes, sir… Sir, where are you going?   They say the building is unstable and –“

“I don’t care, Sarah!  I’ve got to find them!”  Softer, he whispered, “I have to find him.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya coughed and then winced.  It hurt, so that meant he must still be alive.  Illya opened his eyes and blinked.  He held out a hand in front of his face, its outline barely discernable.  Moaning from the effort of moving, he patted the ground around him.  He first found his communicator, smashed to bits.  He tossed it aside and continued to hunt until he located his flashlight.  Saying a little prayer, he clicked it and let out a relieved breath as it popped on.  His joy was short lived as he viewed the mess of tangled concrete and steel around him.  Somehow, he’d not been buried, but his options of movement were limited.  The staircase was buried and if he hadn’t turn to investigate that sound, he would have been killed.  

Then he heard that wonderful lifesaving noise again.  Gritting his teeth, Illya got to his feet, narrowly avoiding bashing his head on a dangling hunk of cement.  Aside from some bruises and scrapes, he looked to have escaped major injury.  Now it would be a struggle to keep it that way.

“Great, maybe I can starve to death down here from being buried alive instead.  That just how I want to die.”  His voice sounded muffled, but Illya wasn’t sure if it was because of the blast or the fact that most of the building seemed to be in the basement now.  He paused, wondering for a moment if any of the other agents made it out.  Harris had been yammering about his plans for Christmas, a long-anticipated trip home to England.  Hamilton was expecting twins any day now.  Stan, well, Stan didn’t have any real plans, but he was certain something would come up.  Considering the man’s popularity with the women, Illya was sure of it.  The man was as bad as Napoleon…

At the thought of his partner, Illya stopped. He was glad he stopped in to visit Napoleon this morning.  The truth of the matter was that he missed Napoleon immensely.  He missed their missions, the closeness they had, and a closeness that bordered almost on intimacy.  Illya sighed.  So many time, he’d had the chance to tell Napoleon his true heart and, like this morning, each time he’d run scared.  Now it was likely he’d never get the chance now.  He wondered if for an instant, Napoleon would have even entertained Illya as something more than just a partner.

The sound drew Illya from his thoughts and he slipped his weapon from its holster as he rounded the corner. There were the two bodies sprawled out a few feet ahead of him.  It looked as if they’d been leaving when the blast had occurred.  Illya checked, but their bodies were already growing cool.  He stepped over them and saw a partially blocked doorway.  He holstered his weapon and moved aside some of the smaller pieces enough so that he could squeeze in.   He wasn’t sure what he was going to find, but a young boy chained to a wall was pretty much at the bottom of that list.  

The child saw him and cringed.  “Don’t hurt me!  Please, don’t hurt me.”  He huddled into a small ball and began to keen.  That had been the noise Illya had heard.  In this small room, it bounced off the walls and Illya covered his ears. 

“It’s all right.  I am here to help you.”  Illya swung his light around the room.  Because the space was more alcove than actual room, it had survived most of the damage “My name is Illya.  What’s yours?”  Illya patted his pockets and found a handkerchief.  He held it out like a peace offering.

“Anthony, but my friends call me Tony.”  After a moment, a hand ringed by a chafed wrist took the handkerchief and the boy held it to his face wiping away tears and grim.  

“How old are you?”

“I just turned fourteen.”

“How did you get down here, Tony?  This doesn’t seem like a place for a young… a teenager.  Were you engaged in something illegal?”

“Who, me?  No way!  My dad… he’s got a lot of money.  I think they wanted him to buy me back.”

“It’s called a ransom.”  Illya took a thin lock pick from his tie and started to work on the manacles.

“That’s not what they called it.  They called it blood money.  They were talking about cutting something off to send him.”  Tony’s voice started to shudder.  “They were going to get a knife… they wanted to cut off my…”  His voice dropped to a shamed whisper as his hand shifted to protectively cover his crotch.  “My you-know”  

“Well, they are well past cutting anything off anyone now.”  Illya released the right manacle and turned his attention to the left.  It popped off even faster and the young man was free.  

“They’re dead?”  Tony rubbed his wrists.  “Would it be awful if I said good and that I hope it hurt?”

“Not from where I’m standing.”  Illya ruffled the boy’s hair.  “Now we need to get out of here before the rest of this building comes down on us.”  He started to walk out, then glanced behind him.  “Tony, we need to leave.”  Still, the teen didn’t move.”  “Tony?”

Tears trickled down the boy’s face. “I’m scared.”  He looked around the room.  “It’s sort of safe here.”

“Not for much longer, I’m afraid.”  Illya could hear the creaks and groans of the building.  “Do you want to know a secret?”  Tony nodded slowly.  “I’m scared, too.” Illya returned to him and squatted.  “There is nothing wrong in being scared, just as long as it doesn’t prevent you from trying.  Not trying is worse than trying and failing.”

“My dad calls me names when I get scared.  You won’t tell him I was crying, would you?”  Tony sniffled and rubbed a red-rimmed eye.  “I don’t think he likes me very much.”  Tony curled his arms around his knees.  “I bet he doesn’t even know I’m gone.  Or care.”

Illya squeezed a thin shoulder.  “My father used to do the same.  Later he told me he was trying to toughen me up because I was so young and he was afraid that I would be a target for stronger and bigger boys.”

“Was he right?  Were you?”

Illya smiled tightly at the memory.  “They tried, but my father had no idea how capable I was of taking care of myself.  I didn’t need toughening up, but what he did, he did out of love and concern for me.  I am willing to bet that it’s the same with your father.”

Suddenly the teen’s eyes grew serious, “What would you bet?”

It took Illya a moment and then he nodded. “Name it.  Do your worst.”

“Umm, skating at the rink and sitting on Santa’s knee.”

“You got it.”  Illya’s face grew grave as he offered Tony his hand.  “We have a bet.  Now, let’s get out of here so we can prove the other wrong.”

                                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon paced and glanced at his watch.  It had been five hours since he’d arrived.  The police and fire department had barred his way from even getting close to the building.  Agents milled around, offering aid and help where they could, biding their time until Napoleon called upon them.

A firefighter trotted up to him.  “Mr. Solo?”

“Yes?”

“They wanted me to tell you they’ve got your men.  If you want to follow me?”  

Napoleon’s knees grew weak with relief.  He steadied himself on a card table for a moment and then he drew himself up.

“I’d like to see them.”

“I understand, sir.  If you will follow me?”  He led Napoleon through a hodgepodge of hoses and rescue equipment.  Napoleon kept his head down and ignored everything going on around him.  The ground was uneven with debris and obstacles.  The last thing he wanted was to trip over something.  Then he slammed to a stop.  On the ground in front of him were four sheet-covered bodies.

“Oh my god, no,” he whispered, then jumped as the firefighter touched his arm and pointed. 

“Your men are over there, sir.”

Sitting on the end of an ambulance, Napoleon spotted Stan Bernardi first, his head turbaned with white gauze, then Harris and then Hamilton.  He looked around for Illya, but the man was nowhere to be found.  It would be just like Illya to insist upon staying behind to help.

Napoleon walked up to Stan, relief washing over his feature.  “Mr. Bernardi, where’s your partner?”

Stan pulled the oxygen mask from his face and wheezed, “Basement.”

“But the building is in the basement…” Napoleon started and Stan nodded.

“Yes, sir, I know, sir.  I’m sorry.”  He returned the oxygen mask to his face and took a deep breath, then coughed.  Tears trickled from the corner of his eyes, but Napoleon didn’t know if they were sorrow or pain caused.  It didn’t matter either way to him.

Napoleon turned and closed his eyes, concentrating, reaching deep into his consciousness.  “No, he’s still alive.  I know it.  I can feel it.”  This connection had been a point of contention for years, but both men felt it even though Illya pooh-poohed it.  At times it was a bother, but now it gave Napoleon a small thread of comfort.  

“He can’t be,” Harris protested, but he stopped at the look in Napoleon’s eyes.

“We’ll find him, sir.”  Hamilton’s face was gray from the concrete dust and horribly bruised.  He started to stand, but Napoleon placed a hand upon his shoulder in restraint.

“You three are going straight to Medical.  I‘ll debrief you later.”

“I’d rather stay, sir.”  Stan dropped the mask to the ambulance deck and stood, swaying slightly.

“We have agents here.  I need you three to get some help and be there for questions.”  He patted Hamilton’s shoulder gently and looked at Stan.  “Can you do that for me, Mr. Bernardi?  For Illya?”

“Yes, sir.”

Napoleon looked back at the building, even as the sun was starting to dip behind a skyscraper.  Soon night would be here and with it, the temperature would plunge.  It was already cold, but exposure would be the real danger soon.  “Where are you, Illya? Talk to me, partner.”

                                                                ****

“Where are we, Illya?”  Tony held the handkerchief over his mouth and shivered.  Illya had torn off part of his shirt tail and tied it over his mouth and nose.  

“No idea, but I have a bad feeling we are walking in circles.”  Illya pointed to a piece of dangling concrete with his flashlight.  “I swear we’ve passed that before.”

“I’m tired and I sure am hungry.  And really, really cold.”  He was wearing Illya’s jacket and still shivering.

“Me, too.”  Illya glanced at his watch.  It was broken in the blast, its hand stuck on 11:08.  “And thirsty.  I don’t remember them offering us lunch on this flight.  Just stay focused on getting out of here, Tony.”

Tony turned to say something and stumbled.  Illya flashed the beam in his direction, revealing that Tony had stumbled over a corpse.  The young man gasped, half turned and started to vomit.  Illya half carried, half dragged Tony away from the gory sight.

“I’m sorry,” Tony muttered as soon as he could speak.  “I’m so weak.”

“You’re not weak.  Anyone would have that reaction.”

“My father says I’m weak.  He says I’m not strong enough to carry on the family name.”

“You can tell your father for me that he’s an idiot.  The day that the horror of death doesn’t affect you is the day you stop living.”

There was a rumbling and Illya huddled over the boy as all around them debris fell.  Illya gasped as a heavy weight bounced his shoulder, but he held the boy closer to him, protecting him as best he could.  For a long moment, they remained motionless, then Tony stirred in Illya’s arms.

“Hey, Illya?”

“Yes.”

“I can see light.”

Nothing else could have created more of a charge in Illya than those words.  He shined the beam up at the narrow strip of murky light.  “What are we waiting for?  Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Damn straight.”  Tony took a deep breath.  “I’m ready.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon sipped the coffee and stared off into the night.  A few snowflakes were falling, reminding Napoleon of just how cold it was as if his stone cold coffee and freezing hands wasn’t enough of an indication.  Someone had started a fire in a steel drum and rescuers paused by it to warm themselves, but Napoleon refused to permit himself a comfort that his partner was denied.  

A stranger walked up to him and Napoleon took a moment to study him.  Unlike many racing around, the man was well dressed and clean.  His pace was measured as if he carried a great burden upon his shoulders.  Napoleon knew how he felt.  Napoleon put his coffee down and stood at the stranger’s approach.

“You Napoleon Solo?  The head of UNCLE?”  The voice was gravely, but Napoleon didn’t know if that was normal or from something else.

“I am.”

The stranger offered a hand.  “Stark, Howard Stark… of Stark Enterprises.”  He pointed at the crumbled building.  “My son was in there.”

“So is one of my agents.”  Napoleon gestured to the table.  “Coffee.”

“I wouldn’t refuse.”  He followed Napoleon to the table but declined the sugar, creamer and an offer to sit.  “What’s the chance of him being alive?”

“Surely you know there’s no way for me to answer that, sir.”  Napoleon picked his cup up and sipped, wincing.  “But if he’s with Illya, his chances of survival tripled.  Illya’s trained in such things.”

“And you think your agent is still alive?”

“I do.”

“This is my fault,” Stark suddenly blurted out.

“You blew up the building?”

“Hell, I practically did.   I… was being stupid.  I told Anthony that he had to purchase his mother’s Christmas gift by himself.  He’s so painfully shy and introspective.  I wanted him to do this, not just for his mother and me, but for himself as well”

“How does asking your son to purchase his mother’s gift make this your fault?”

“He’s was on his way to Tiffany’s when our driver was ambushed and Anthony was kidnapped.  If I’d gone with him…”

“Then the reality is that you might be dead as well.”  Napoleon poured the man another cup of coffee.  “We have to play the hand we are dealt, even when we have no idea of the rules or the dealer.”

“They contacted me, but the police told me to not negotiate with them.  They threatened to do something terrible, but I didn’t think they’d be stupid enough for this.”

“I doubt they were.  Our presence was drawn to this place by a force that would be stupid enough to do this.  I’m afraid your son was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I should have paid the damn ransom.  What’s a million dollars compared to the life of your son or your agent?”

Napoleon opened his mouth to answer, but there was suddenly a noise as the rest of the building caved in.  Large clouds of dust blasted out and debris tumbled, denting vehicles and knocking over temporary structures.  There were cries and curses mixed in with the rumble of the collapse, both from onlookers and rescue workers.

Napoleon gripped the sides of the table and prayed.  _Stay with me, Illya._

                                                                                *****

Tony jumped at the sound and looked back over his shoulder.  “What do you suppose that was?”

“I’d say the rest of the building just came down.” Tony’s hand found Illya’s.  “Still scared?”

“A little, but I guess a sewer is better than where we were.”  He coughed.  “I guess.  Good thing we got out when we did.”

“I agree.  Tony, listen, I know you are tired, but we should be coming up on a manhole exit fairly soon.”

“What was wrong with the ones we’ve passed?”

“Too close to the building.  We need to be at least a mile away to avoid coming right back up inside where we were.”  Ilya smiled.  “Provide we could.  I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“At least it’s a little warmer in here, but it sure is stinky.”  They walked for a few minutes in silence save the fall of their steps.  “Illya?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for Christmas?  My dad’s really rich.  He can buy you anything.”

“That is very generous of you, but what I want can’t be bought.”

“Why not?  My dad says every man has his price.”

“What I want is love and as far as I know and that’s not something they are trading on Wall Street.”

“Yeah, my mom says that it’s the one thing that is still free to give and then she kisses my father and they get all weird.   Does the person know?”

“No.”

“My mom says that you can live life and you can love life, but you can’t live without love.”

“Your mother sounds like a very smart woman.”

“You need to tell her.”

“Who her?  Your mother?  I will be glad to just as soon as we’ve gotten out of here and I’ve taken a good long bath.”

“The girl you’re in love with, Dopey.”  Tony gasped.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t call you names.  That’s what Dad does to me and it’s mean.”

“I can assure that I have been called much worse, but you are right.”  Illya grinned “As for the other, it’s complicated.”

“Everything is.  Have you seen senior trig?”  Tony whistled.  “Just the cover of the book is scary.”

Illya laughed.  “I can’t say that I have.  Wait, you just turned fourteen.  Why are you taking senior trigonometry?”

“I’m smart and Mom says that anything worth doing is hard.  If it comes easy, then you can’t or don’t appreciate it.  I’m never going to fall in love, no way!”

“Then you will be a better man than I.”  Illya pointed to a ladder.  “I’m going to try this one.  Can you shine the light upward for me?”

“Sure!”

The climb up the rungs was hard.  Illya’s body ached from his eyebrows to his toenails.  He came to the cover and said a little prayer that he had the strength to shift it.

He pushed and nothing.  Taking a deep breath, he tried again and it shifted slightly.  That was enough to give Illya strength and he pushed one last time and managed to slide it aside.  

Snowflakes kissed his face as he turned it up to a gray sky.  “We’re out, Tony!”  At the lack of an answer, he retreated back into the hole.  “Tony?”

Illya went back down the ladder and saw Tony on his knees, his shoulders bent.  Alarmed he went to the boy’s side and touched his shoulder.  Tony looked up and smiled.  “Sorry, I was just saying thanks.”

Illya smiled.  “Not a problem.  When you are through, we can leave.”

“Thanks.  I’ll just be a minute more.”  He paused, then continued.  “Do you believe in God, Illya?”

“No, but I believe in Napoleon and that’s enough.”  Illya retreated back to the ladder and looked up.  _Hang on, Napoleon.  I’m coming._

                                                                                ****

The police chief walked into their disaster command post and looked around until he spotted Napoleon.  Napoleon stood upon his approach and the man shook his head.

“That last collapse has made the entire area too unstable.  We are scrubbing any rescue attempt until our structural engineers can get in there and shore the thing up.”

“But Illya’s still alive, I know it.”

“And my son!”  Stark was on his feet, grasping the chief’s arm.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do at the moment.”

“I’ll take my own men in.  You can’t stop me.”

“I can’t let you do that, Mr. Solo.  We need to pull together and show this city some unity.  This is a tragedy, but we can’t let us break us.”

Stark started to softly cry and Napoleon placed an arm around the man.  “My poor little boy.  I was so hard on him and he never knew how much I loved him.  I just wanted him to be strong, to not be afraid.”

“It’s okay to be afraid, Dad, just as long as it doesn’t keep you from trying.”

Stark staggered and clutched his chest.  He spun and Tony was standing there, Illya’s hands resting on the teen’s narrow shoulders.

“Oh my god, Tony!”  Stark caught up his son in trembling arms and his sobs grew even louder.

“Illya!”  Napoleon was at Illya’s side in a moment, his arms around Illya, holding him close.  “I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“Takes more than dropping a building on me to stop me.  You should know that by now.”

“It’s okay, Dad.”  Tony hugged his father back.  “Me and Illya we climbed through and into the sewer.  It was gross down there, but I didn’t see any alligators.”

Suddenly they were aware of applause and Napoleon reluctantly released Illya, who tried to brush some of the dust off on Napoleon’s jacket.    “Sorry about the mess.”

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya was stretched out in Medical, relishing the quiet and the oxygen that blew into his face beneath the mask.  The last few hours had been a whirlwind of activity.  He felt pretty good, the truth be known, but he suspected it had something to do with the fluid that was steadily dripping into his arm.

Napoleon poked his head around the door frame.  “You still awake?”  He walked into the room and looked around.  “These rooms never change, do they?”

“Barely.”  Illya didn’t disguise his yawn as he slipped off the mask.  “When can I get out of here?”

“Tomorrow morning, but it comes with conditions.”

“They are?”

“You go straight home and rest for at least two days.”

“I can do that.”

“And you agree to have dinner with me on Christmas Eve.”

There was a pause and then Illya nodded slowly.  “That seems a small price to pay for freedom.”

A noise at the door made them look in that direction and Tony was standing there.  “Hi, Illya.  Can I come in?”

“Of course, Tony, I want you to meet a friend of mine.  This is Napoleon.”

“That’s your real name?”

“It is.”

“Wow and I thought Anthony was bad.”  Tony took a deep breath and held out his hand.  “I have come to say congratulations.  You won the bet.”  There was a wide grin that followed.  “He does love me, Illya.”

“Told you and for the record I only bet on a sure thing.”  Illya shook the boy’s hand.  “When and where?”

“Saturday, at eleven?”  He looked at the room.  “Will you be okay by then?”

“Absolutely.  I will find my skates and meet you there.”

“And then dinner at Delmonico’s.  Dad insisted.”

“I can very much do that.”  

Tony started to walk away and then turned back to Illya and hugged him.  “Thank you for saving my life.”

Illya released the boy and ruffled his hair.  “Thank you for saving mine.”

Napoleon watched the young man walk from the room.  “What was that all about?”

“Growing up.  Something we both needed to do.”  Illya yawned again and Napoleon pushed the mask back into place.

“I would say I understand, but it would be a lie.  Get some rest and I will see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”  Illya closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.  Just before tumbling over that ledge, he swore he could feel gentle lips against his forehead and he smiled.  Real or not, it was nice to know he was loved.

 

                                                                                ****

The wine was breathing, the fire was merrily crackling in the fireplace.  The music was softly playing and dinner was ready.  Everything was perfect and he’d been over the list a dozen times.  Napoleon had not missed a single detail.  So why did he feel like tossing his cookies?  He hadn’t been this nervous since he’d proposed.  He touched his jacket pocket and smiled.  _Close enough._

The door chimed and then there was a fast knock.  Illya’s knock, he’d know it anywhere.  Napoleon opened the door and gestured Illya in.

“You’re covered with snow.”

“It’s really coming down, out there.  I might need to camp out in your guestroom tonight.  I suspect we will be snowed in by ten.”  Illya paused to take off his muffler, coat and hat and then he carried the bags he’d been toting to the Christmas tree.  “Your tree is very nice this year.”

“Thanks.  I had some help.  Amy came over and offered advice.”

“Your aunt has taste.”

“She’s invited you to dinner at her place tomorrow.”

“Impeccable taste.”  Illya knelt to place some packages under the tree.  “What’s for dinner?  I’m starving.”

“You are always hungry.”  Napoleon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray of appetizers.  He carried it to the bar where a bottle of champagne was cooling in a bucket of ice.  “Any aftereffects from your adventure.”

“To be honest, it’s going to hurt to sit for the next few days.”

“And you are going to have to explain that.”

“Skating is not exactly the same as riding a bike.  I think I spent more time picking myself up off the ice than actually skating on it.”

“Well, the couch is very comfortable.  Could I recommend we sit there?”  He slipped the cork from the bottle and filled two glasses with champagne.  Setting them on the tray, Napoleon carried it to the couch and set it down.

“My bruised and beleaguered backside thanks you.”  Illya looked around and nodded.  “This is very nice, Napoleon, but I can help but think you have an ulterior motive to all of this?”

“Am I that transparent?”  Napoleon patted the cushion beside him and Illya joined him, taking one of the flutes.

“No, I’ve just known you that long.  What shall we drink to?”

“I have to say something first.”

“Yes, it’s called a toast.”

“That’s not what I mean.”  Illya smiled then and Napoleon could see the playfulness in his eyes.  “Remember a few days ago when you told me that you thought it was time I settled down?”

“I do.”

“Well, you were right.  I’ve found someone.  Someone wonderful and perfect.” The light in Illya’s eyes went out and Napoleon watched Illya’s face go hard. He felt like a heel.  

“I’m happy for you.  You deserve it.”  Illya forced a smile.

“We deserve it.  It’s been a long time in coming and it took a serious kick to my head to see it. Up to that point, there had been signals, but I thought I was misreading it as something else.  Turns out it was exactly what it was.  I was just too pigheaded to see it.”  

“Wonderful.  When’s the happy day?”  Illya’s voice was artificially bright, his words hurried.

“Soon, I hope.”

“Anyone I know?”  Napoleon could tell by the inflection of Illya’s voice he was feigning interest.

“I’ll give you some hints.  Blond, blue-eyed, too smart for anyone’s good, great body.”

“Oh my God, you’re marrying Sarah?”

“It’s you, you moron.”

Illya’s eyes grew wide.  “Me?”

“If you’ll have me.” For a long moment, Illya sat there quietly and Napoleon feared he’d misread the entire situation.  Then Illya spoke quietly.

“They tell me that when the building finally collapsed, you refused to give up on me.  Why?”

“I just knew that you weren’t dead.”  Napoleon tapped his chest and then his head.  “In here and in here.  I just knew you were still alive and I wasn’t going to stop until I had you, one way or the other, even if it meant sifting through the whole building with a teaspoon.”

“That’s answer enough for me.”  Illya lifted his glass.  “To us.”  They drank and Illya set the flute down.  “Now what?”

“I was sort of hoping you could tell me.”  Napoleon smiled hesitantly.  “I’m rather new at this.”

Illya touched his jacket and then slipped his hand inside to draw out a folded sheet of paper.  He unfolded it, regarded it and then passed it over to Napoleon.

“What’s this?”

“My Christmas gift to you, as it were.  It’s my request to come out of the field.”

“Illya, are you sure?”  Napoleon’s eyes couldn’t even focus on the paper.  This was something he’d wanted since he’d moved to Section One.  “I thought you loved Section Two.”

“Strangely enough, I seem to love you more.”  The words were accompanied by a shy smile.  “I know you changed the rules for me.  It seems that you have been doing a lot for me.  It’s time that I do something for you.”  The smile grew.  “Besides, I think anything else that could happen in Section Two would pale in comparison to having a building fall on my head.”

“Illya, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you will accept it and please, don’t make Ferguson my boss.  I will strangle him before a week was out.”

“I think we will be able to find something that will match your skill set and experience.”  Napoleon set the paper aside and found his arms suddenly filled with Illya.  There was just a moment’s hesitation and Napoleon leaned forward to meet Illya’s kiss head on. Lips parted and tongues cautiously touched.   That was all Napoleon needed and he plunged into the kiss with his heart and soul.  Sitting back, he gave Illya lop-sided grin.   “I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“It feels strange?”

“It feels wonderful.”  Napoleon reached up to touch Illya’s face and Illya turned his head to kiss the palm.  “I will admit there will be a bit of a learning process on my end.”

“Not really.”  Illya stood and offered Napoleon his hand.    Everything you’ve done with a woman…”

“Yes?” Napoleon took it and stood, his eyes never leaving Illya’s face.

“It’ll be twice as good with me.”

Inside, there was love and joy.  Outside, there was peace and, for this night, all was calm and bright.  
 


End file.
